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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881504">Music in My Head (Mini Fic 1)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeDefinitely404/pseuds/MaybeDefinitely404'>MaybeDefinitely404</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music in My Head Universe [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allusions to Past Self Harm, Dissociation, M/M, Minor panic attack, Non-sexual shirtlessness, Not sure if that needs a warning, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:55:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeDefinitely404/pseuds/MaybeDefinitely404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil's been quiet for quite some time now, so Janus goes to check on him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deceit | Janus Sanders &amp; Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music in My Head Universe [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Music in My Head (Mini Fic 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a series of oneshots taking place after Virgil's foster placement in Janus and Logan home in the Music in My Head Universe. Could be a stand alone but misses some context.</p><p>Word Count: 2.2k</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Logan?” Janus broke the comfortable silence the family room had fallen into, the couple reading their books on the couch, Janus’ feet splayed across Logan’s legs. The professor hummed, finishing his sentence before sticking his bookmark into the page and setting the book on the coffee table. “How long has the shower been going?”<b><br/>
</b></p><p>Logan blinked, checking his watch. As his brows furrowed, Janus quickly set his own book down as well, sticking in a crumpled receipt as a bookmark. </p><p>“Well over forty five minutes. He got in shortly after nine, correct?” </p><p>t6“Do you think he’s okay? Virgil never showers this long.” In the two weeks since their foster child had come to live with them, he did everything he could to be as little a bother as possible, oftentimes worryingly so. He took tiny portions of meals, always the last to serve himself, he watched TV so quietly it was barely audible, never asked for things he wanted or needed (though that was possibly because he was still unable to talk), and most importantly, took the world’s shortest showers. Two, maybe three minutes max, and that was including when he turned the water off when washing his hair. Logan hypothesized that it was most likely due to a lack of heated water for <em>every</em> child in a group home, and they both decided to go with that theory, because they didn’t want to think about anything else. This kid had been through enough. </p><p>A forty five minute shower was out of character, if not straight up concerning. </p><p>“Should we check on him?”</p><p>“I doubt he would appreciate that,” Logan said, but didn’t stop Janus when he swung his legs off of Logan’s and stood up.</p><p>“I’m just going to knock on the door and make sure he’s okay.”</p><p>Logan nodded and picked up his novel, a fascinating book Janus had given him for his birthday, “The Golden Ratio and Fibonacci Sequence”. He had hoped to get some time to read it while traveling for work, as a small reminder of who was waiting for him at home and to keep his mind off the job that made him want to tear his hair out. That had been the plan, but it turned out the flying back and forth exhausted him enough that he actually looked forward to just sleeping on the airplanes. The stupid promotion had promised ‘some light traveling’, not ‘only seeing his husband barely two weeks out of the month’. </p><p>“Logan?!” </p><p>In a heartbeat, the book was discarded and Logan was sprinting up the stairs, a sense of panic already clinging in his throat at the distressed call. He turned down the hall to the bathroom, the door now wide open, and Janus’ shape crouched by the far wall. When he got close enough, he could hear him speaking quietly.</p><p>“-you hear me, Virgil? You’re safe, you’re okay. Are you with me?”</p><p>Logan crouched next to his husband, laying a hand on his shoulder. Virgil was pressed sideways against the wall, sweatpant-clad legs pulled up to his chest, eyes lost in a thousand yard stare. His breathing was calm, as far as Logan could tell, but his head swayed and his eyelids flickered nonstop.</p><p>“He’s dissociating. And the water isn’t helping,” Logan pushed himself to his feet, breathing a bit easier knowing it wasn’t an emergency, and shut off the shower. The house felt too silent all of the sudden without it’s monotonous stream in the background; it had probably contributed to Virgil’s hazy state of mind. </p><p>Apparently he’d never even gotten into the shower, judging by his dry hair and single crumpled hoodie near the sink. He must have lost reality just before, fading out as he let the water heat up. Whether he’d collapsed, or had the mind to sit himself down, he didn’t know. </p><p>“Can you let me know you’re there, Virgil? If I take your hand, can you squeeze it?” Not waiting for a response, Janus lifted his limp hand from where it had flopped against the tile, holding it in both of his. Judging by his worried expression, there was no squeeze.</p><p>Just because his dissociative states- the ones where he was truly unreachable- had become fewer and shorter, didn’t mean they had disappeared completely. It was not nearly enough time for that to be expected. It looked like this was such a state. </p><p>“We should get him a shirt, and then put him to bed.” Janus tried tugging on the hand a bit, hoping for a reaction, but got none.</p><p>“It would severely violate his trust to go through his closet. We swore to him that his room was his private space, and it would be foolish of us to circumnavigate the promise so early on. He’ll never trust us again.”</p><p>Janus didn’t argue, which was about as close as Logan generally got to an agreement from the man. He’d learned that early in their relationship. They both also knew that Virgil kept his room immaculate, so there would be no pyjama top they could pluck off the floor, but putting him to bed in his hoodie would be too hot, and he’d probably be uncomfortable if he woke up shirtless.</p><p>“Could you go get one of my shirts? It will be too big for him, but I’m sure he’d rather have that than nothing.”</p><p>Logan retreated to their bedroom and Janus turned back to their foster son, who had closed his eyes and was resting his chin on his chest. Janus set Virgil’s hand back on the ground, choosing to sit on the tile instead of crouch as he heard his husband rummaging through their drawers.</p><p>“Did I tell you about the time Logan got scared by his own shadow?”</p><p>Nothing. He continued.</p><p>“He was up late working, and I told him to come to bed, because he was obviously exhausted, but <em>nooo</em>. He just <em>had</em> to get it done right then. So I, being the loving person I am, rolled over and tried to get some sleep. Next thing I know, there’s a scream in the kitchen. I’m out of the bed in a second, thinking someone’s <em>dying</em>, and you know what I see?”</p><p>No response.</p><p>“My genius of a husband, an academic prodigy with two bachelor’s and one master’s degree, the man with a one hundred and fifty seven IQ level, standing amidst the shards of a broken mug, in a puddle of boiling hot coffee, facing off with his own shadow in the living room window.”</p><p>Was he imagining it, or was that a hint of a smile? </p><p>Logan re-entered the room, and Janus ignored him.</p><p>“This fool got scared of his own shadow across the room, screamed so loud it woke me up, broke his favorite mug, and ruined his favorite slippers with coffee stains. You know his brown slippers? Those used to be white. I told him to throw them out but he <em>insists</em> they have ‘perfect arch support’-”</p><p>“They <em>do</em>! Why do you insist on always telling this sto-”</p><p>“-so now he has stained slippers. He’s a man-child, is what he is. If you ever need to scare Logan, that’s the best way to do it. Be something completely inconspicuous-”</p><p>“<em>Hey</em>!”</p><p>“-and then just <em>exist</em>. Spooks him every time.”</p><p>He was quickly hushed by a shirt wacking him in the mouth. As the bickering simmered to a halt, Virgil’s eyes had returned to their flickering state, but now interrupted by more frequent harder blinks, face turned in a little grimace. He was coming back, but it would still be a while, if he even did tonight. Janus shot Logan an evil but loving grin before taking the article, giving Virgil a warning, and then ever so gently sliding the shirt over the boy’s head. </p><p>“This isn’t mine,” Janus muttered, pulling Virgil’s hand through the first sleeve, being careful to avoid touching the raised white scars on his arms. That would no doubt raise some alarm in the boy’s mind. </p><p>“Correct. This one seemed like the best choice, taking both Virgil’s style and comfort into mind. It was the closest thing to a night shirt I could find.”</p><p>It was Logan’s old shirt, one that had been tucked into the back of the closet, old and worn down but too precious to throw away. He had a sentimental attachment to the NASA logo on the front, a reminder of days that weren’t filled with work and traveling, but nights spent stargazing with Janus (when they were still dating) and a certain attachment to space that he’d never been able to outgrow. But the white shirt was no longer worn, it was just a memory.</p><p>A part of Logan felt inexplicably satisfied as Janus helped Virgil into the soft material, big enough that he was almost swimming in it. Something seemed to spark in Virgil as the shirt was pulled over his stomach and he twitched, lifting a hand and lethargically batting Janus’ away. It would have been a cute move if it weren’t most definitely in response to fear surrounding other people touching him. As expected, Janus pulled away completely, returning to his crouch position.</p><p>“Virgil, do you think you can stand up?”</p><p>He nodded weakly and lifted his hands to cup his forehead. The two men watched as he led himself through a few deep breaths, until he reached out towards Janus’ general direction. He exchanged a shocked glance with his husband- Virgil had never wanted physical contact before, much less initiated it- before eagerly taking the hand held out to him and helping Virgil to his feet. He stumbled and caught himself on the towel rack, still holding onto Janus. Was he even cognizant enough to know he was doing it? Probably not. </p><p>Janus used Virgil’s hazy grip on his hand to his advantage, tugging him gently out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. Their progress was slow, with Virgil’s continuous stumbling, his head too heavy and limbs weak. Janus finally gave in when his knees buckled, wrapping an arm around the younger’s waist to keep him upright, and whispering words of encouragement as they got closer. There was a solid chance that he wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, which Janus kind of hoped would be the case, because who knew how the kid would react to this kind of closeness and reliance when he was thinking straight? He’d be mortified, and more than likely to shut himself away.</p><p>Logan opened the door when they were near enough, and Virgil collapsed onto his bed as soon as Janus let him go. It took some maneuvering from the two to get him properly under his blanket, head in the pillow, and the moment he was comfortable, it was as if his mind decided that was enough work for the day. His eyes became glazed once more and half-lidded, focused on nothing, and his hands went lax from where they’d been gripping the blanket. </p><p>“I’m going to stay here with him until he’s asleep,” Janus whispered as he took a seat on the floor, back against the bed. “Just in case he comes to and panics.”</p><p>“Good idea.” Logan left quickly, and Janus heard his footsteps going down the stairs, a pause, and then coming back up. He seemed proud of himself as he reentered, holding their books that he’d grabbed from the coffee table, and dropping next to Janus. </p><p>“You don’t have to stay if you’d rather go to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow,” Janus was saying even as he scooted closer to his husband, leaning on his shoulder and opening his book.</p><p>They both knew Logan cared about Virgil just as much as Janus did, maybe even more (though Janus would claim that to be impossible). He’d gone through this healing process with his husband before; the nightmares, the depressive episodes, the anxiety attacks, and seeing it on someone else brought up those same protective instincts. Basically, they were both going to protect him with their lives, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it. </p><p>Just then, Virgil drew in a shuddering breath and let out a pained whimper, forcing Janus into action faster than Logan could process. He spun around, meeting Virgil’s not-quite-gaze, and threaded his fingers through his hair without a moment’s hesitation, shushing him quietly and whispering more of the same encouragement. Logan rested a hand on his shin, rubbing through the blanket with his thumb. His breathing settled down minutes later, and with simultaneous sighs of relief, the husbands dropped back into their previous positions. </p><p>Despite the numerous panic attacks they calmed, they both finished their books that night, leaning on each other in the dim light of the hallway and the nightlight combined. They didn’t leave until Virgil’s eyes finally closed, sometime around two in the morning. When they both got up half an hour later (just to be safe), bones creaking and muscles aching from hours on the floor, unbelievably tired and thirsty and dreading going to work in the morning, they still shared weak smiles before basically passing out in their own bed.</p>
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